Where Angels Lose Their Ways
by Daisy Sparrow
Summary: chp4: Slade:'your problem, my dear boy, is that you care for too much.' Het, slash, RobinxStarfire, SladexRobin
1. 1

**Where Angels Lose Their Ways - 1 **

**Author:** Daisy Sparrow 

**Rating:** PG-13 so far, R in later chapters 

**Pairing:** Currently they are all implied, Robin/Starfire, Slade/Robin 

**Disclaimer:** I don't know who Teen Titans and all its characters belong to, and frankly I don't care. It's bad enough they are not mine, so please don't rub it in, OK. 

**Warning:** Slash (aka: m/m situation), other than that, English is not my first language. 

**The story has been betaed and reposted, all thanks to the wonderful Fire Tears. I don't have enough words to express my graditude. Thank you so much, you are a goddess!**

**A/N:** My most recent obsession is Teen Titans, not the comic book, but the cartoon that's showing on YTV. I love its animation style, very anime like, and so cute. Not to mention the main villain kicks ass and has a Robin complex. 

The title is inspired by Chrono Cross. In the game, the beach where Serge can cross between worlds is called 'where angels lose their ways'. It's kinda novel, so I used it. ^^ 

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Slade doesn't talk to Robin. He purrs. 

Starfire can't remember exactly when that particular conclusion came to her. No one has ever credited her of being overly perceptive. She doesn't blab out what's on her mind like Beast Boy, nor does she indulge in constant, silent observation of others like Raven. 

Starfire is just... Starfire. 

She likes to compose flourish poems about friendship, alter edible earth recipes to unrecognizable states and pay attention to her teammates. And she knows something is wrong when Robin refuses to come out of his room for the third day in a row. 

She figures that it probably has something to do with his impersonation as Red X in order to infiltrate Slade's power base, and of course, Slade himself. 

Why does everything always come back to Slade? 

That brings her back to her current predicament, floating outside of Robin's room, balancing a food tray with one hand, while the other hovers close to the door. She has halted before actually knocking, and is now staring sightlessly into the silvery metal in front of her, contemplating Robin's bad mood and Slade's voice. 

Her most recent acquaintance with that voice was when Robin was interrogating Slade's robotic henchman on the beach. Slade had only shown for a few minutes on the small screen, but he almost seemed magnified somehow, with his towering pose, the slight tilt of head and the glittering which flicked momentary in one eye. He was like a giant tiger, waiting to strike and snatch away the unsuspecting prey. 

Starfire had inconspicuously held onto Robin's cape the whole way back. 

The ordeal unnerved her. 

Slade has a deep and throaty voice. One might even call it seductive. Sometimes it reminds her of Blackfire, which in itself is disturbing beyond comprehension. It's the same soft, coaxing tone her sister uses when she really wants something. A tone that says 'I'll wait, I can be patient, but there is no escape and it will be mine sooner or later.' A tone that contains a world of contradictions. Gentle like an ocean breeze, yet straightened with bones of sturdy steel. Leniently warm one second and biting cold the next. 

Coming from Slade, that tone always covers some kind of unnamed emotion, like some strange current that blends in with each sentence. The same something that smoothes out the edges between the letters and bridges the gaps between words, so that they all flow out fluently like one continuous serenade. 

It was only a faint impression at the beginning, but layer upon layer it rolled with each progressive encounter, and one day she suddenly realized that it's just... there. Gracefully hiding underneath every exchange of fists and strategically planted underneath every unspoken word. 

Impalpable until both parties choose otherwise. 

It scares her. 

Slade, who has been treading closer since the incident with Cinderblock, is making himself known to the team more and more. The man is as unfathomable as ever, but he is visible now and his presence lingers longer each time his name is uttered. Starfire has the horrible feeling that they have been baited all this time, strung along like helpless puppets. However, she doesn't think that it's the Teen Titans that Slade is interested in, at least, not as a whole. 

That scares her more. 

Because she thinks... no, she _knows_ what, or more specifically, _whom_ Slade is after. 

Robin. 

One of her closest human friends, the boy who is dear to her heart. 

Slade is after Robin. 

But for what purpose? 

It can't be because of their oppositions. Slade has been presented with ample opportunities to do Robin serious harm, but he has spared the boy each time. It can't be because of the pleasure of the chase, either. The seemingly eternal chess match of wits between the two are too relentless and harsh to be cataloged as simple child's play. 

What then? What can the criminal mastermind possibly want with Robin? 

But whatever it is, it is most likely not mutual. 

And definitely not returned. 

Must not be returned. 

After all, Robin absolutely despises Slade. The apparent animosity, often expressed without constraints by Robin, has caused even Raven to comment on its intensity. Cyborg has cracked more than one joke about how their leader probably has a voodoo doll with Slade's mask nailed to it in his closet somewhere. And Robin has called Slade 'that creepy bastard' with gleeful frequency. Starfire is quite sure that the phrase isn't used for flattery. 

So in that case, her suspicion is baseless. 

Robin won't leave them. 

Robin can't leave them. 

There won't be any Teen Titans without Robin. 

Then why isn't her fear eased by this knowledge? Why can't her pounding nerves be still? 

This is... all Slade's fault. 

This dangerous spinning vortex and mystery of a man. His involvement, his ever-present... meddling in their affairs has opened a whole new set of doors and threatens to swallow them all, sweep them away with its temperamental waves, blur their vision and choke down on their consciousness until they lose their ways, and all mistakes are final and irreversible. 

Starfire fears for all her teammates. 

Especially Robin. 

In Robin's case, perhaps Red X was only the beginning. 

The door whooshes open. 

Starfire gasps, blinking rapidly before focusing back to an equally startled Robin. She gives him a weak little smile in greeting, raising the tray in her hand slightly, stating her intention wordlessly. 

"No, thanks, Star." 

Robin looks dead on his feet, eyes bloodshot with weariness and cheekbones standing in sharp definition against his thin face. Starfire's heart skips a beat. She swallows uneasily, resisting the urge to reach out and brush away a strand of those wayward locks. 

"Please eat something, Robin," she pleads softly. "Rest assured, I followed the recipe exactly, so there will be no nasty surprise this time." 

That warrants a small chuckle from Robin, followed by a slight shake of head. Robin turns sideways and makes as if to close the door. Starfire darts forward hastily, pressing one palm against the door frame to intercept its movement. 

"Then will you not at least take a break? Come potatoing on the couch with us? Beast Boy has acquired the newest addition to the Super Ninja showdown movies, he has informed me that--" 

Robin cut her off. "I have a lot of work to do, Star." 

She added eagerly, "Then I am certain that some food, rest and mindless television would aid greatly in your effort to do... whatever it is you are doing." 

He sighs, mutters something too quiet for her to catch, eyebrows creasing together. Starfire, however, isn't discouraged, and instead continues with her reasoning in earnest. 

"Please, Robin. You have not left your room in three days, and we are all very worried." 

"...I'm... I'm all right, Star. I just have a lot on my mind." 

She hesitates, peeking at him under red bangs. "Does it has anything to do with what I said earlier?" 

"Eh?" 

"My... comments on the similarity between you and Slade, and of your distrust in us. Please pay it no mind, it was very thoughtless of me. I did not mean to imply that--" 

"No, it's not that." Robin puts two fingers gently on her lips, effectively silencing her frantic words. "It's... not what you said... but you were right. You were right when you said that we are the same." 

She blinks, confused. 

"...But I don't want to be like him... not like him. I just... I..." 

"You are not!" She speaks past his fingertips, hoping the conviction in her voice is enough to reassure him. 

Robin smiles sadly. "Thanks for saying that, and for everything you're trying to do." 

"Robin, but--" 

"I just want to be alone for a while. I... need to sort this out on my own." 

With that said, he turns and shut the door in her face. Starfire's gaze falls onto the door once more, her feet landing on the floor soundlessly and her shoulders slumping in defeat. She can almost feel the ground sway under her; the walls blur for one instant and she rubs her eyes furiously. 

She just... wants the old Robin back. 

She wishes that everything can go back to a time before they'd even heard of the name Slade. A place without this senseless suffering, uncertainty, and self-doubt. 

When did it all start? 

Did it begin with their fights against those three graduates from the Hive Academy? Was it their first non-meeting with the elusive man when they first learned of Slade's existence? Or was the wheel only turned when Robin asked that fateful question: 

_'Who's Slade?' _

Who is Slade, indeed? Starfire wants very much to know that as well, and then she will know what needs to be looked out for and what precaution to take. 

Starfire will not allow Robin to be taken away, not by Slade. 

Not by anyone. 

Not from her. 

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Thanks for reading. Reviews will be treasured. Flames will be laughed at and ignored. 

^^ 


	2. 2

**Where Angels Lose Their Ways - 2**

Warning: very, VERY suggestive languages! 

Again special thanks to Fire Tears for the betaing. ^__^ 

_Italic_ = Slade's thoughts 

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Sometimes Slade sees himself in Robin so clearly, that it's almost like looking into a mirror. He sees another path, another possibility, and perhaps even another chance. They truly are so very, very similar on so many levels. But unlike Slade, Robin's path is still undecided, the road before him free and its destination unnamed. 

Slade wants to be that destination. 

And right now, he is somewhat... impatient. 

Robin is beautiful, simply vibrant and glowing from that fiery spirit. Slade wants a taste, just the smallest sip to sustain himself till their actual meeting. 

So he has cooked up this little plan. 

Trap the boy in an abandoned warehouse, with him. Not in physical form, in presence only. 

Because the time, regrettably, is not yet ripe for the picking. 

He stands before the screen. The room is cold and the giant gears rotate and click around him quietly. He takes a step forward; the boy's pain-filled face shifts closer. The smirk behind his mask is mirthless and cruel. 

Lights flash on the controller attached to his arm guard. Red lights, pulsing placidly, indicating the boy's heart rate. A gloved finger caresses the flat, metallic surface gently. Carefully, he presses down and guides the small, black arrow higher up on the scale. 

The android's grip tightens. 

Robin chokes, clawing fruitlessly at the unyielding steel. The lights brighten and the numerical digits on the indicator start to rise rapidly, warning with each flash. Slade sighs, then bites his bottom lip in a haste to stop the satisfied moan from escaping. 

The warehouse is empty and ghostly quiet. Robin is the only one there; his pestering friends are all otherwise engaged... elsewhere. The leader of the Teen Titans is strangely unbalanced tonight, almost absent-minded, and thus provides no great challenge for his minors. The boy is easily overtaken and restrained. Slade jammed the Titans' communication frequencies beforehand, and then sent Cinderblock as further distraction. 

Robin is staying, and they are not going to be done until he says so. 

Moonlight pours through the open windows, projecting a false image of sincerity and tranquillity. Almost peaceful, if not for the pained moan from Robin and the soft static noises from the transmitter of the android. 

He moves the arrow up a little more, and the mechanical hand jerks sharply. Robin's struggling almost ceases, and his mouth hangs open, gulping down air desperately. 

_I can kill you... right now. _

Slade chuckles, the sound crystal clear despite the miles separating them. 

Robin stiffens before resuming his struggling, head swinging from side to side. He can almost picture the boy's eyes, darting around the room frantically, alerted and searching. 

"Robin, Robin." He starts by admonishing in an almost parental tone, "Rushing into a situation unplanned and unprepared. This isn't like you at all." 

Robin's head cranes around and pinpoints the hidden camera in a heartbeat. He can see the tightly clenched jaws, lips pulling back in the motion of a snarl, revealing the whitened gums and both columns of pearly teeth, teeth that are gritting almost forcefully. The boy would have hissed out strings of threats by now if his windpipe wasn't cut off. 

Slade wants to laugh out loud. 

In the next instant, Robin's body has sprung up in an arc, aiming a vicious upward kick at the android's elbow. The joint breaks with a sickening snap. Sparks of electricity course through the exposed wires, and dance around the jagged edges of the fractured exterior cover. 

_Ahhh... I knew it. There is still some fight left in you, given the right incentive. _

The android's grip stays secured. In response, both of Robin's hands grasp the wrist of the mechanical arm, hitching it outward while pushing against the android's chest with both feet as means of leverage. The steel rod, serving as the central bone for the arm, croaks under the strain, then comes apart with a dull crunch. 

Robin falls backward, but pushes with one hand before his body can hit the floor. With a perfect back flip, the boy lands a few feet away and immediately crouches into a defensive position. The remaining hand around that slender neck is pried off and thrown away as if it's some sort of contagious disease. Robin coughs a few times before his breathing can calm down to a soft panting. 

There is a thick line of bruising, already forming and visible just above the neckline of the black cape. 

_So fragile. _

Slade licks his lips, suddenly wishing there is something other than the inside of his own mouth to chew on. 

"SLADE!" Robin shouts, one hand going toward his utility belt, "SHOW YOURSELF!" 

"Now, now, Robin, that would take the fun out of the game." 

Robin glares at his patronizing tone, then spits out hatefully, "This isn't a game! Come out, you coward!" 

His eyes roam over that lean form, which is trembling slightly with barely suppressed rage. Robin really needs to do something about that temper; it can get him into a world of trouble. Not to mention an early grave, which is something Slade isn't going to allow. 

"Of course it's a game, Robin. It's always been a game." 

Robin doesn't reply, and instead stalks towards the camera menacingly. The contractible staff extends and cuts through the air with a loud whoosh. With the staff held rigidly in one hand, Robin leans his upper body forward slightly, ready to charge. 

Abruptly, Slade asks, "Did it hurt?" 

"W-what?!" Robin pauses at the sudden change of topic, body tensed and staff held awkwardly in the middle of a downward strike. 

"Did it hurt?" he repeats, dragging out the last 't' until it fades into an inaudible purr. 

The boy lowers his weapon, and then takes an involuntary step back, shaky fingers unconsciously stroking the bruises on his neck. Slade's shoulders are heaving convulsively with repressed laughter. 

The young and the innocent. Both are so predictable and so easily swayed. 

"You, you..." Robin stammers out, looking adorably confused. 

His headquarters have just gotten a few notches warmer. He steps closer to the gigantic screen on the wall, scratching along the line of Robin's face before the back of his nails migrates toward the base of Robin's neck. As always, he wishes that he can be in the same room with the other, just to smell the boy's scent, sweat and musk, but also mingled with the freshness of soap. And it will definitely be laced with torrents of hate and fear. 

"You're looking a little pale, Robin. Not... _frightened_, are you? Does it hurt that much?" 

"W-what the hell! I am not scared!" 

Slade chuckles again, which manages to infuriate Robin further. The boy is positively fuming with indignation. But no matter how much Robin denies it, the fear is transparent, written clearly on his face. That is, if one knows where to look. 

"Oh, but you are. It always hurt, doesn't it?" Slade continues as if uninterrupted, "Everything." 

"What are you, my psychiatrist now?!" 

Slade studiously ignores that remark, then proceeds to type in a few commands on the panel of the control table beside him. The hidden androids inside the warehouse are instantly activated. Their shadowy figures slink forward, sprouting from the lurking darkness like phantoms. Robin draws in a sharp breath and raises the staff again. The androids do not advance, and they will hold their positions until further instruction. 

"Sweet, delicious pain... something to remember me by." 

_My mark. _

"Stop talking in riddles! Make sense!" 

He laughs, and the sound comes out low and somewhat raspy through the filtration of his mask. Robin takes another retreating step, looking increasingly freaked. He observes the change, pleased. The walls surrounding the boy's mind are crumbling, their foundations dissolving. Slade can almost hear the echoes of the falling stones, crying out into an endless vacuum. 

Robin's beliefs are mere parodies; they're constructed from nothing but self-righteous anger and a misled sense of justice. They are made of glass and straw, weak, feeble and unworthy of mentioning. When the last wall is crushed, there will be nothing left to guard Robin. Nothing will stand in Slade's way; he will snatch away Robin's spent yesterdays and lay claim to those meaningless tomorrows. Because only from the ruins can Slade salvage the shattered pieces and create something new, something infinitely better. 

"And soon it's going to hurt a lot more. There is nothing you can do to stop this." 

"Wha-you... I... S-shut up!" 

The mask is cracking now, infested with tiny fissures of doubt and uncertainty. They will grow and spread like cancer. 

The staff is dropped from Robin's hand and rolls lifelessly onto the floor. Robin is biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, body recoiled and hands shielding out the onslaught of words. 

"You are scared, helpless, defenseless. You can't save anyone, not even yourself." 

_Just a little more. _

"Fear angers you, and in turn it fuels you. Without it, you have nothing." 

"Shut up! SHUT UP!" 

"Fear may pain you, but without it, you feel nothing." 

"Shut up... just... s-stop..." 

_Does it pain you now? Does my presence pain you? Can my voice alone scorch your skin? _

"Without it, you are nothing." 

"N-no... it's... it's not true..." 

"Admit it." 

"No... NO!" 

_Close._

So close, yet not close enough. He reaches out and his hand encounters cold glass instead of pale cheeks. The screen is smooth and firm beneath his palm, but it lacks the inviting warmth of human flesh. 

A colourful expletive is halfway to the tip of his tongue, condemning this accursed barrier of space between them. 

The door explodes. 

A girl with red hair bursts into the room, green energy spheres shining brightly in both hands. With a twist of wrists, she sends them flying. They soar through the air swiftly and blast into the group of androids. The rest of the Teen Titans follows closely behind her. 

"Robin!" 

Robin straightens upon hearing her voice, then dashes forward and picks up his staff in a blur of green and black. Vertigo and frailty temporarily forgotten and concealed with long practice. The mask slides back in place with ease, and the walls are being reconstructed with alarming speed and masterful skill. 

Slade curses, out loud. 

Once again, Cinderblock has proven himself to be completely useless. Good help is simply impossible to come by. If only Robin wasn't so stubborn. 

Annoyed at the fact that his 'quality time' with the Boy Wonder is spoiled, Slade switches off the monitor. He has no interest in the impending fight, since the Titans will no doubt come out victorious. As a group, those children are surprisingly resilient and Slade needs an entirely different set of tactics in dealing with them. 

Divide and conquer. 

But not today. Today he's already had his fun. He smirks, patters down the platform and turns toward the direction of the laboratory. He still has work to do. His nanoprobes are in the final stage of development. A few more days, and they will be ready for testing. 

Then the Titans will pay for their interference, tenfold. 

As for Robin, this meeting is enough. 

For now. 

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Thanks for reading. 

I adore reviews, and worship constructive comments. 


	3. 3

**Where Angels Lose Their Ways - 3**

Warning: I like to describe bloody scene in all its gory details. 

Again special thanks to Fire Tears for the betaing. (P.S: I am totally looking forward to your story, it better be out soon. Write! Write! ^__^ ) 

_Italic_ = Robin's thoughts 

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His punches bypass the sandbag, and instead rain on the wall behind it. The drumming of his harsh breath is accompanied by loud thuds, signaling the impacts between flesh and concrete. Occasionally a muttered curse joins in the steady rhythm, premising the arrival of another crack on the already dent-decorated wall. 

Robin doesn't have his gloves on, and the split edges of the broken surface slice into his skin like razors. By now his battered knuckles are nothing more than a mess of torn skin and bruised bones. 

Blood, carrying flecks of white paint, drips down the wall like smeared watercolor. Their redness is concealed by the absence of light and darkened to a pessimistic shade of brown. Each droplet of crimson appends the testament, the silent accusation sprouted by this sleepless night. Those spilled blood droplets are his sins, his failures, his uncertainties, his doubts and everything he wishes to gouge out of himself. But the more he strives to be rid of them, the more they pour out of him. Their treacherous roots burrow deep and their thorny vines spread far. 

He is being pulled, weighted down and immobilized by their invisible claims. 

Robin stops, both palms flattened against the wall, head dropped and panting harshly. The talons of fear are clawing at his chest and boring through his weakened knees. He feels like an small animal, a small, wounded, trapped animal. An animal that lacks the courage to chew off his own leg to escape the hunter, instead is wasting time moaning pitifully against the injustice of its own downfall. 

_"Not.... **frightened**, are you?"_

The implication of his previous sentiment and the reminiscent of that question clash and wrestle, while sliding, painfully slowly, down to the very pit of his soul. Their synonymity rips open a whole new channel of boiling rage and with a desperate cry, he launches his fist at the wall again. 

_No!_

A hard punch. 

_Slade is wrong! _

Another punch. 

_Slade is a liar, thus every word that comes from his mouth is poison!_

And another one. 

_I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I am not afraid._

He murmurs the sentence under his breath, over and over. The sound alone is enough to soothe him, like prayers, warding off the evil of the world. Robin leeches onto whatever strength they might offer him. The meanings of those words are no longer relevant; their significance fades into the anonymity of nothingness. The force of his hits increases as the ferocity of his rage intensifies. 

Another punch, followed immediately by a snap. 

Pain erupts from his wrist. Between one heartbeat and the next, the agony has traveled to the rest of his body, dancing on the tips of his fingers and probing against the base of his spine. 

He gasps before grinding his teeth, but the pain is already beginning to numb his flesh, tranquilizing his senses until all he can feel is a dull strain around his arm. He raises the injured hand to his eye level. 

His left wrist is twisted at an awkward angle with a ring of blacken bruises crowning the base of the joint. 

Robin sighs, lowers his arm and leans his forehead against the wall, seeking the comfort radiating from the coolness of the hard material. 

After an indeterminable amount of time, he grows irritated of the staling air and the oppressing quietness inside the room. The anger is dissolving, leaving behind a hollow shell woven by the threads of his conflicting emotions. 

"Lights." 

The overhead lamps are instantly switched on with that command. The ceilings and the floor reflect the luminous rays back and forth, creating an almost hypnotizing effect. 

_If only life was so easy._

If only life was so easy that the darkness can be chased away by a simple flick of switch. The darkness of heart and the darkness of mind, both are dictated by the flawed and frail foundation that is one's humanity, both sprung from one's most secret desires and basic needs, and both are so often mistaken as something else. Something elevated by better justifications; their true implication veiled until the last fatal strike. 

Their blunt lies and half-told truths are gaining on him now, and Robin is confused. Confused not by his own hapless entanglements, but by the degree to which he has allowed himself to be entangled, to be directed, to be... pushed? 

Has he allowed himself to be pushed into this murky pool of riotous circumstances? Or has he walked forth by himself, marched boldly forward with both eyes open? 

Eyes open, yet unseeing. 

Or refusing to see... blinded and distracted by his own arrogance, over-confidence and assumptions. 

But... is that all? Is that all of the... explanations? 

Can there be more? 

Can there be something else... something else he missed, overlooked, or perhaps-- 

He snorts out a disgruntled groan. This training session has proven to be counter-productive, much less helpful, its purpose contorted into a pale parody of its original self. All in all, he has wasted valuable rest to pursue some elusive peace of mind. 

The revelation agitates him further, his anger sparkles anew and Robin raises his fist again. Only to have it skid to a halt at the last moment. Blood trails mark the wall opposite him, streaming down like tear tracks. The sticky liquid looks shockingly bright, almost glowing eerily under the artificial light. 

Enough. He's had enough for tonight. 

Grey mist is starting to creep behind his half-lid eyes and he shakes his head to clear away the drowsiness. He feels like he is immersed in the midst of some kind of surreal dream, and only detachment is left after the last wisp of adrenaline flees from him. 

The feeling in his left hand is gradually returning to him. He tries to flex his fingers and they protest with sharp bolts of sting. He examines the bruises closer and deems them semi-serious. Grudgingly, he decides that a trip down to the infirmary is probably advisable. He hits the door button with a little more force than necessary, and the metal block retreats into the wall with a swift whoosh. 

The hallway is better lighted than the exercise room, and he turns his face slightly to avoid the magnified illuminations. He saunters toward the infirmary, booted feet pattering soundlessly against the carpeted floor. The building is quiet. The only noise is made by the soft humming of the air-conditioning system, and the outward normality of his surroundings begins to calm him. 

Has he... over-reacted? 

No. Robin can never be too careful, just as no situation can never be investigated too far and no riddle dismembered too thoroughly. He is the leader, after all. His constant vigilance governs not only his own well-being, but that of his friends as well. But just as that belief is set firmly in mind comes another penitent realization. 

_Careless! What if something happens? What if we are attacked now?_

With each step, guilt climbs higher into his heart. He can still fight with a broken wrist, but it will no doubt dampen his performance and prove to be a distraction at some crucial moment. Robin swears lividly inside; he has the bad habit of forgetting his own limits and the limits of a human body. 

_Human._

For Robin, it's something of an old scar. Sometimes he wonders how he easily assumed the role of leadership, especially since he is what one might call the only _normal_ one among the Teen Titans. He's a hundred percent super-power free. It hasn't bothered him that much before. He was trained by Batman after all, and he understood, from a very young age, that everyone is special in their own way. And just because he's human doesn't mean he can't kick major ass. 

But he always feels that he has to push himself extra hard to earn his place among his peers. Because regardless of how much he tells himself that he doesn't care, there is always this small, nudging voice in the back of his head, constantly whispering and secretly questioning his own worth. And if he had some kind of special ability, he could perhaps... function better? Maybe even be a better leader. 

_This... this is ridiculous._

People don't need super powers to be strong. Batman is human, and he's one of the strongest and most intelligent people Robin knows. And even... Slade, who has appeared to be human enough and doesn't posses any special power, is somewhat-- 

Robin freezes, eyes widen, realizing too late that he has just put that... that... despicable criminal on the same level as his mentor. 

_Ack! How can I even think that!? ...Okay, from now on, no more snacking on Beastboy's tofu waffles before training!_

Resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall, he quickens his pace. He can't fathom what has brought up that comparison. In his mind, even just the barest hint of that kind of thought is filed away as an insult to his teacher. And why Slade of all people? It almost feels like... a betrayal, not only just to Batman, but also to himself. 

Now thoroughly disturbed, the entrance to the infirmary comes as a most welcoming sight and he staggers inside. Starfire whirls around, eyes rounding in alarm before they take in his lanky form. 

"S-Star." Robin blinks, a little surprised that someone else is also up on this ungodly hour. "What are you doing here?" 

She shrugs sheepishly before tentatively raising her bandaged finger. "I was preparing breakfast and was not paying attention. Well... the knife slipped." 

"Breakfast? But it's..."--he squints at the digital clock on the table--"...it's three in the morning." 

She looks a little embarrassed, with the lightest pink tainting her cheeks. "I... I could not sleep, so I decided to use my time in a more productive manner. ...As an old earth saying goes, the early... ahhm... worm... gets the bird?" 

"It's the early bird gets the worm." He chuckles good-naturedly. Starfire's presence is... warming, and often brightens whatever gloom is plaguing him. 

"Right! Ahhmmm... Robin, why are you here?" 

"Errr... I..." He stutters, swings his left hand behind his a back a little too fast. 

Starfire walks closer, head tilted slightly. She has obviously caught his haste attempt at hiding his wound. She asks softly, "What is wrong with your hand? Is it damaged?" 

"Ahhh... it's nothing! Just... a small training accident. N-nothing to worry about!" 

With a gentle kick of heels, she's in the air. She floats around, circles behind him before he can react. Emerald eyes widen, glimmering with sudden moisture. Robin tenses, mentally slapping himself. 

She sniffs, then turns toward the counter. "I-I will go and retrieve the necessary medical supplies and equipment..." Then she stops and adds gently, "Robin, whatever it is, please do not carry the burden alone. We are your friends, and we will always be here for you." 

"Starfire..." 

She still has her back toward him, and the gesture alone is a shouting rejection, silently yet clearly declaring her reproach on his repeated display of distrust. He wants to reach out, to spin her around and explain. To explain that it's not her that he doesn't trust... it's himself. 

She breathes out, "I... I will always be here for you." 

Robin feels his inside twisted sharply. Whether it's in pain, regret, or in happiness, he does not know. And in those bewitching hours before the departure of this bleak night, he realizes that he does not have the courage to find out. 

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Thanks for reading it. 

Reviews are adored. Constructive criticisms are worshipped. 

^__~ 


	4. 4

**Where Angels Lose Their Ways - 4**

Warning: I've taken great amount of liberty with Slade's past. 

Special thanks to my beta, Fire Tear. (p.s: if you want more Slade/Robin, go check out her fic 'without reprieve'. It's very good, and has a lot of Robin torture. ^^ ) 

_Italic_ = Slade's thought 

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The city at night is a lawless beauty. Free, wild and untamed. Its radiance complimented only by the neolights adorning the buildings, twinkling like fallen stars. And together with the moaning from the entwining streets, they wreathe and chase one another in an endless circle of sin. 

In the midst of this urban jungle, men converse with false courtesy, and in secret fight like beasts clothed in human skins. Only when the last hour of twilight slinks away will they break from the confinement imposed by daylight. There, they shed their pretentious refinement. There, they dwell, immersing in all their earthly pleasures. And there, they wait, to hunt and to be hunted. 

_There _is where he waited. 

Where he is waiting now, for a prize so precious that it's worth every second he has ever invested in. 

The hour is late. The empty stone benches lining the walkway of the park stand lonely against the backdrop of the well-lit city. The silence is shattered only by the rattling of the leaves, matching in pace with the car honking from the distant bridge. The park is on outskirts of the city, close to the coastline and in direct route to the tiny island with the T-shaped tower. It's well shaded by dense vegetation, and when it's not frequented by morning exercisers, it projects an aura of almost utter desolation. 

Slade is currently perching lazily on top of a sturdy branch, shielded from view by both the leaves and the moonless night. He has perfected the art of fading into the background. It's a part of his past training and a most useful forté for any successful villain. He learned a long time ago that there are no limits to the amount of information one can gain by simply staying quiet and inconspicuous enough. 

For better flexibility, he has also traded his usual heavy armor plates and leather jumpsuit for a lighter attire. He is still clad in black, face half-covered in soft cloth instead of the metal mask. He looks almost like his younger self. Almost, if not for the jagged scars overlaying the right half of his face. It was a price he paid for independence, for breaking away from the old teachings and finding his own destiny. It was also a reward, a war medal of sorts, like something to declare his triumphal. But however he glorifies it, in the end it's still just a fusion of blemished flesh, and it's not something he wears with vanity. 

Slade fingers the scars with a gloved hand. The gentle night breeze ruffles his unruly hair and teases his exposed skin playfully. On the outside, his posture is relaxed and his face indifferent, while inside, anticipation is pumping liquid fire into his veins. 

He is here overseeing the commencement of his latest plan. After the previous mishaps, Slade has reverted back to the age-old wisdom of 'if you want to do something right, do it yourself.' That, and the fact that he is not one to miss any opportunities to stalk the object of his continuous obsession, close up and personal. 

There is movement to the street below. Slade turns his head slightly and feels a shiver run through his spine at the sight of that spiky black hair and the equally dark cape. 

Robin tends to take a slow walk through this park after a night patrol, and the red-haired alien girl often accompanies him. It's in those quiet hours when the innocents slumber, oblivious to the true crying of the world surround them, that Robin is his truest nature. 

A child. 

Strong, intelligent, wise beyond his years. But a child nonetheless. 

There are changes, significant yet easily over-looked, like the smallest rearrangement of facial features that suddenly softens the stern set of jaws and smoothes out years from the weary brows. Subtle changes witnessed only by the night and the boy's closest friend, and of course, Slade. There are simply untold amounts of benefits in having spy cameras everywhere. 

This is a Robin that Slade likes almost as much as an angry Robin. It's a different face of truth. A face without the tired guise of a proud leader. Sometimes Slade thinks that he's not looking at Robin at all, but at the boy beneath the mask and the costume. The boy, whom Robin is a part of. Because in these hours, there is no need to hide. The darkness hides them all. 

Night suits Robin much, much better. 

And as per many nights before this, Robin is strolling slowly towards the tree Slade is hiding in -- with the girl floating by his side, Slade observes dryly. The two teenagers are talking. Or more precisely, the redhead is chirping excitedly while the Boy Wonder nods and smiles in all the appropriate places. Robin looks a little... unfocused, and Slade immediately notices the casting on the boy's left wrist. The discovery brings a rush of almost blinding anger. 

Someone has hurt the boy. 

Someone other than Slade. 

_Unacceptable. No one else but I can leave marks on him. _

The rage dissipates as quickly as it's gathered. Slade feels foolish for the slip. It's not like him to let his emotion gets the better of him, but Robin is a special case. None of his normal logic and behaviors apply when it comes to Robin. They never have and most likely never will. 

The two have passed from under the tree. Slade leans forward slightly from his crouching position, eye following the lilt form almost lovingly. Just before they are about to exit the park, he presses the switch on his wrist guard. 

A shadowy figure dashes from around the corner of the street. The girl skids to a halt in mid air, while Robin spins his head around a little too late and collides with the newcomer. 

The two-wheeled cart tips due to the force of impact. Cans and bottles clatter and water splashes onto the ground. Flowers are thrown off their vases and scattered about. The old lady groans with pain and Robin sprints to his feet, stuttering apologizes before kneeing down beside her and checking for injuries. The redhead has also landed, and is now hovering over both like a mother hen. 

Slade watches the following scene impartially. There is nothing new with the Titan's typical do-gooder antics. Robin is still apologizing, even after he and the girl overturn the cart, place all the unbroken items back and gather up the flowers. Dimly, Slade wonders whether or not Robin apologizes to chairs when he knocks them over. It's almost... cute. And it makes him hungry, very hungry. 

The boy has a serious guilt complex. It's something Slade vows to use to his full advantage, but as soon as his goal is archived, he will drive it out of Robin. It has no future in Robin's mind, a place where Slade will occupy, completely. 

The old woman appears to be unharmed and chuckles good naturally at the two teens' anxiety. Robin breathes out a sign of relief and relaxes visibly. 

_Far too trusting._

In the next second, the woman has whipped out a gun and points it straight at the alien girl. She fires and a red beam of light hits the girl square in the chest. Robin shouts and rushes forward, but is only quick enough to catch the redhead's stumbling form. 

The casting-engulfed hand encircles the fainted red-head and pulls her close to him; Robin draws out his staff with the other and swings it at the woman. The staff catches the woman's knuckle, and the gun flies out of her hand and into the bushes nearby. The woman is unfazed and answers that retaliation with a lunge. Robin jumps back with alacrity; the limp body in his arm falters slightly and he takes a horizontal swing. This time, the end of the staff connects with the side of her face and her head is snapped aside with a loud crack. She falls down backward, neck twisted and arms spread lifelessly. 

Robin stares, body low in readiness for another strike. But the threat is gone and her body lays motionless. Then his eyes widen, the realization of what he has just done dawning from below the harsh panting and drumming of adrenaline rush. The staff is released from nerveless fingers, and slowly, Robin sinks onto the ground. 

Slade licks his lips, resisting the urge to applaud in praising acknowledgment. He has guessed the right amount of force for Robin's strike when calculating and designing the neck section. Despite it all, Robin's aim was precise and accurate, and his action ruthless and vicious. Perfect. 

Robin begins to shake and his grip loosens. The girl, still unconscious, rolls out of his embrace until she comes to a rest on her side on the ground, long hair obscuring her face that's turning away from Robin. The boy sucks in a mouthful of air, breathing hiccups slightly before he bites down on his bottom lip. 

Slade decides now is a good time as any to intervene. He flips from the tree soundlessly. A few large strides brings him right behind the kneeling boy. 

"Are you not suppose to be _saving_ lives?" 

Robin stiffens, then in a flash, darts toward the weapon on the ground. However, Slade is faster and he has both of the boy's arms twisted back before Robin can fully stand up. His knees are pressing the back of Robin's legs onto the ground, one hand encloses both struggling arms in its grip. The other reaches out, grasping Robin's jaw from behind and tilting it back. Robin is bent backward uncomfortably, his body tensed like a bow stretching to its maximum flexibility. 

"Well," he drones, "aren't you?" 

"Slade..." Robin's hiss soon turns into a pained gasp as the force on his jaw increases. 

"Robin," he purrs in greeting. 

"L-Let me go!" Robin's voice sounds small and unsure. 

The boy's face is brushed to an almost alabaster shade of white by the newly resurfacing moonlight. The paleness travels all the way down to Robin's neck, creating an unexpected illusion of vulnerability and helplessness. Not an illusion so much as an exaggeration of fact. Robin is afraid. 

Slade is very, very hungry now. 

"You killed her," he stated as a matter of fact. 

"I... I... I didn't... mean to... I..." Robin's voice grows smaller with each word. 

"Oh, but you did. Your first kill, am I correct? How does it feel?" 

"..." 

"You did it to protect your friend, didn't you?" 

"I-I..." 

Slade continues mercilessly, "But does that make it... all right?" 

"...no." 

There is the heralding of defeat in that soft admittance. It's not the kind of defeat Slade craves from the boy, but it will be a start. Robin slacks against him, physically drained and emotionally wounded. The boy's red-head companion lays forgotten and the world narrows down to just the two of them. 

Having all that attention focuses solely on him is making him feel almost... intoxicated. Slade leans closer so that his body cups the other's from behind and he buries his face into the junction between neck and shoulder. The coarse material of his face mask rasps the sensitive flesh behind the boy's ear. 

He blows softly before presses a small, butterfly kiss there. An indirect kiss, through the fabric of his mask, barely scratching the surface of his desires. But its lightness insinuates a much more incandescent burn, and in the hollowness it drilled stems another type of enticement, one whose luring will seep so much more profoundly. 

Robin has long since frozen, and the obscene nature of Slade's gestures seems to finally snap him out of his stupor. His struggling renews and in response, Slade tightens his hold. 

"W-what... what are you... doing... W-wait... why are you... here..." Then something seems to click, "You... You set me up!" 

_Sharp. Very sharp. _

Even under crisis, Robin maintains a clear, level head and people wonder why Slade chose him. Robin's head cranes toward the body on the ground. Her eyes are open; there is a dull and glass-like quality to them. And her expression is too neutral; no pain, no shock or much of anything, almost... like a doll. Slade can see the gears in Robin's head turning, putting all the pieces together. 

Until finally Robin concludes in an incredulous tone, "She... she isn't real." 

"No, she is not," Slade agrees, somewhat impressed by the speed of Robin's deduction. 

"She's... an android?" 

"A very well made one. I spent a great deal of time on the details. I really should... repay you for breaking my toy." 

"Y-you are the one wh-who... and she--" 

He interrupts, "And it makes it acceptable? To kill a human would be a sin, but a little metal parody of a human would be pardoned in a moral sense? In the end, what difference does it make? Could the lack of flesh and bones really justify your action? After all, you thought she was real. Or do you... really just like to destroy things, Robin?" 

"That's not true! I-I didn't... know..." 

He whispers beside Robin's ear, "Ahhh... but it feels good, doesn't it? Hearing that satisfying... crunch. Feeling that false life slipping out of her. Doesn't it make you feel... good? Empowered? ...Almost... like a god?" 

"No one, absolutely no one," the conviction in Robin's voice is unwavering, "has the right to decide who lives and who dies." 

"That is where you are wrong, child. The strong will always prey on the weak." 

Robin shouts back, "What do you know?! Strength is not measured by the number of people you murder!" 

He sighs softly. This discussion is going nowhere. As Slade suspects, Robin's ideals are burrowed too deep and can not be easily uprooted. But they are small inconveniences, he has included all the deciding factors into his plan. Besides, he never deluded himself into thinking he could convert Robin overnight. After all, that would take the fun out of the hunt. 

It's not that he enjoys Robin's suffering, not too much anyway. The boy will be his apprentice and the last thing Slade wants is to damage him beyond repair. And no matter how careful he is, there is always the possibility of a backlash. Robin, as unlike as his outward appearance suggests, has a rather delicate balance on his psyche. Still, Slade can not resist marring something so beautiful and pure, to ruin the innocent and to drag the righteous down to the same level as himself. As if just by proximity, he himself can be lifted somehow. There is also a sense of satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment there. 

A point, proven. 

And a long buried wish fulfilled... that he is not alone. 

He will not be alone. 

Slade lessens his hold on the base of Robin's neck and says wistfully, "Your problem, my dear boy, is that you care for too much." 

Robin draws in a few sharp breathes before spits out, "And your problem, you bastard, is that you care for too little." 

"Language, young man." He pulls hard and Robin's shoulder joints creak in protest. "You will show the proper respect." Another tug elicits a barely suppressed groan from Robin. 

In his ear piece, an almost inaudible buzz signals the beginning of a series of ringing tones. It's his preferred method of transmitting information, efficient and allows little room for miscommunication. The message is short and to the point. His androids have completed their mission in the Teen Titan's tower, and are waiting for his next order. He smirks to himself, pleased. In some situations, machines are a lot more reliable than people. 

He lets go of the boy's jaw and runs his now-freed hand through the back of Robin's scalp, imagining the silky texture of the boy's hair as if he's gloveless. Robin tenses further, writhing and thrashing his body around in a desperate attempt to escape. 

"Shhhhhh..." he coos. "As much as I relish our time together, there is some other business I must take care of. But let this be a warning: I am coming back for you." 

In less than a second, his weight is gone. Robin springs up, body coiled into a defensive position and glaring openly at his general direction. Slade has retreated to the sheltering of the shadows, his face concealed by darkness and only the rigid lines of his silhouette remain palpable. 

Robin hisses, fist raising and legs slightly apart in a challenging stance. Slade chuckles and waves his hand towards where the red-head girl is. 

"Choices, Robin. You can stay here and help her. Or... you can abandon your friend in order to chase after me... again." 

Robin twitches. 

Slade's smirk widens, "And I am sure you know that this part of the town is not best known for its reputable residences. So what will it be? Your personal vendetta against me or the duty of a responsible leader?" 

"Shut up! Don't you ever lecture me!" 

Regardless of his outburst, Robin moves protectively towards his fallen comrade, putting himself neatly between her and Slade. 

"And what have you done to Starfire?!" 

Slade grins underneath the black cloth, "That is for me to know, and for you to find out." 

Robin opens his mouth for a snappy retort, but by then Slade has already disappeared, sleekly blending into the trees until Robin's furious yelling can no longer be heard. 

Slade keeps his pace fast and steady until he returns to the security of his own base. The screen covering the wall is already switched on. Four rectangular windows are opened, monitoring and displaying the vital information of four individuals. The silver micro machines multiply with each passing second, and attach themselves to blood cells like parasites. Slade stands calmly before the digital counter which shows their rapidly increasing number, and thinks back to Robin's outraged face. 

Slade doesn't normally go for melodramatic, although he does appreciate theatrics. It adds a certain... flavor to things and intensifies the thrill. Some additional flourish and drama often confuses his enemies. Appearance can and will always be deceiving. Not to mention some of the so called 'heroes' can be laughably gullible in that aspect. 

And whether Robin qualifies as one of the susceptible ones awaits to be seen. 

The old woman might have been a fake, but his nanoprobes are very real. This is not over, not by a long shot. 

He has set the bait and now, he will wait. 

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Thanks for reading it. 

I want to thank everyone who have reviewed and sent their supports. *bow* Your encouragements meant a lot to me and I'll continue to do my best! 

^__^ And as always, review will be adored. Constructive criticism will be worshipped. 


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